


then i shall just lie here consumed with lust for the rest of the evening

by feralphoenix



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Anxiety, Autistic Knight, Disabled Character, Don't copy to another site, Miscommunication, Nonverbal Bretta, Other, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27919312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: Ghost spends the night at Bretta's. Things fail to get off the ground in spectacular fashion.
Relationships: Bretta/The Knight (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 63





	then i shall just lie here consumed with lust for the rest of the evening

**Author's Note:**

> _(truth is tough_ – ooh mister darcy ooh)

They’re about to turn around and leave the way they came when they realize Bretta’s not _actually_ asleep but faking it: Though her eyes have been shut tight she opens one stealthily, taking a sly peek.

And… well… okay, this is still kind of _weird_ but compared to having ventured into someone’s house while they’re asleep while not knowing if that person’s all right with their visitor it’s at least not _creepy,_ so Ghost decides they’ll take it. They close the door behind them: If they leave it open a crack the way it was when they stepped in, Bretta will just get cold.

Bretta’s house is cute. It says a lot about her the way Sly’s shop does about him and Cornifer and Iselda’s does about them, but more so because it’s just Bretta’s _house,_ it’s not like she uses it for anything else. There are so many stone tablets lying around, and tiny little bottles and jars, and the walls are carved and painted in spiral patterns that look like vines or flowers. Everything is hung with curtains and everything’s done up in pretty colors like purple or pink. There’s a little doll or something on the table that looks sort of like Ghost and it’s cute too and they’re not sure how to feel about that. Maybe flattered, but also confused?

(What would it look like, if _they_ had a house? They don’t know if they ever had one, certainly can’t _remember_ ever having one. They don’t really have need of a place to put their things because they can carry everything they need with them in their own body, but a house is supposed to be more than that, isn’t it? They can’t fathom what they would actually do with a little house the size of Bretta’s, what they would put in it, but surely after enough time spent around it something about it would start to take on parts of their personality.

Maybe they wouldn’t even notice it. Maybe it would be as obvious to a visitor as Bretta’s stamp on this space is to them.)

Most of all what’s a weird feeling to have, they decide after catching Bretta taking another peek at them, is that this room is saying more to them about Bretta than Bretta has said to them about Bretta since they first met. _Literally_ since they first met! She said more words to them in the Fungal Wastes than she has since, even though that would be an easy hurdle to clear if she put her mind to it: She has said _zero_ words to them since. Whenever they pass by her in Dirtmouth she squeaks and freezes. If she didn’t turn pink when Ghost stayed around, and if Ghost didn’t have the Dream Nail, they’d probably have assumed she hated them or something.

Well. They _do_ have the Dream Nail and she _does_ blush so they know for a fact she doesn’t! But she doesn’t give them much to work with and they feel rather put out about it sometimes. If someone has something to say to them they can listen, and react physically. But _so_ much of a new acquaintance depends on the other person giving them something to react _to._ They’d hardly enjoy someone they don’t know well reaching out to grab them, so they’re not going to do that to somebody else.

Across the room Bretta is still giving them long coy looks they can tell are supposed to be meaningful but can’t glean any meaning _from_ whatsoever. And it’s petty to be frustrated, they _know_ this, but they still can’t help feeling as though all this is yet another cosmic unfairness heaped upon them, specifically. Bretta is so _cute,_ and they were excited that maybe they’d made a friend, and yet now she’ll only ever try to communicate with them through eye contact, which Ghost is pretty sure is a made-up language that only makes any sense to Bretta herself.

If they couldn’t _literally actually_ read her mind they would be so lost here, Ghost thinks with a sigh, and sidles within Dream Nail range.

_White Wanderer,_ Bretta is thinking breathlessly, _don’t be shy… cold outside… bed is soft…_

Oh.

_Ohh!_

They stow the Dream Nail away with some relief, most of their frustration turned to amusement: If all this time Bretta just wanted to have _sex,_ she could have just _said_ so! Or passed them a note, even! _I-want-to-have-sex-with-you:_ Seven words. Bretta’s voice _works!_ This would be so _easy_ to get across if she’d just open her mandibles to _say_ so.

Maybe she’s just been, like… embarrassed, though? Some bugs get embarrassed about taking other people to bed, Ghost vaguely remembers (probably they’ve had at least one partner like that before, though the details are as ever a haze).

Anyway, now they know what she _wants,_ the rest is simple. They come to stand at the edge of Bretta’s bed and grasp at the mattress with their claws, hoisting themself up (there is a jangling _something_ for just a second about the clambering but it’s gone before Ghost has any chance to ponder it, and good riddance).

Bretta’s eyes have opened wide and she’s abandoned all pretense of sleep as she stares at Ghost: They stretch out on their front beside her, which is hopefully going to be more than enough for her to understand they’re willing to pick up what she’s putting down.

Her thoughts weren’t kidding, though, they discover: This bed is _very_ soft.

And it’s also warm…

Ghost snuggles into the cushion beneath them, limbs splayed out all the way, and relaxes.

* * *

Bretta’s whole entire mind is consumed with one long tinny scream.

Yes, she’d been _hoping—_ she’d been _trying—_ she’d _dreamed—_ she’d _fantasized—!_ But _her_ White Savior, _her_ White Wanderer, who _found_ her _saw_ her _noticed_ her, who delivered her from the wilderness so she could return home… _they_ are in _her_ bed, _they are **IN** her **BED** , their outstretched claw is maybe a fingerspan away from hers… _They shut the door behind them! That means… _surely_ that means… that means they saw the longing in her eyes, and… and they wish to answer it? Perhaps she’s not alone in the joy she always feels when they are near, the peace when she’s enveloped in the faint glow of their shell, the throbbing aching anguish of her nights alone, her wanting of them so powerful she could melt…

And now they’re _here_ and she is _wildly_ ready to live out all those half-imagined dreams, even as her heart flutters with panicked excitement that rattles her chitin. She is _ready._ She will share with this beautiful bug, her very own White Knight upon a silver Stag (okay, she’s never _seen_ them ride a silver Stag, the only Stag left in the kingdom is wizened and ancient—but they would look so _fantastic_ astride one!), her bed and her body. She will offer up her maidenhood in quivering claws. She is ready… ready for them to _ravish her._

…But they, um. They’re not exactly… moving?

Bretta lies still and quivers with readiness, fidgeting with her claws, fighting the flush in her face and the urge to pinch herself about the arms and belly. This feels like a dream, like it can’t possibly be real, like she’s about to wake up surrounded by thorns again except that this time nobody is there for her, like all of it’s just been another great joke in the sequence of great jokes that’s been her entire life. Because nobody cares about boring old Bretta. Plain, unremarkable Bretta, always an afterthought. Always forgotten, always abandoned, forever unloved.

It’s funny, she almost half-remembers a dream she was having, where someone said _I know_ to her miseries, said _It’s not fair_ and _I understand how it is you feel._ Surely it was her own knight who said so to her, because wasn’t that the dream she’d been having when they came to rescue her? Who else would have spoken such to her, who else would have cared but this one bug who saved her life when she was hopelessly lost?

(But hadn’t that been a woman’s voice, in her dream, even though her beautiful White Wanderer isn’t a woman or a man? Bretta thinks this in the back of her mind but lets it slip away: That’s not important, right now.)

They don’t need words now. Not anymore. Her Wanderer understood what she wanted even though words always die in her throat whenever they come near: Truly, they’re the only one who knows her heart. She could weep with gratitude, and she probably will when she isn’t distracted by baser desires: It would be nice to weep tears of joy into their arms after their passions abate, and trust that she won’t have to fumble to speak, believe that they shall accept her even if she’s still struck dumb by their beauty and her love and gratitude.

……Er. They still aren’t ravishing her yet, though. They’ve barely moved at all since they’ve lain down.

Bretta squints against their faint light. They… well, they’re lying rather limp against the cushions. Their face, their fathomless black eyes are turned towards her, but their head still lists upon the mattress.

Are they—are they waiting for _her_ to make the first move?

No—no, _surely_ not, if they know her heart so well then they _must_ know she’s never… that she has so little idea of what to _actually_ do! Even if she were expected to… to reach out and set her claw upon their arm, or, or, or sweep them into a kiss, how could she…

Then… then. Have they… perhaps they’ve fallen asleep?

Bretta’s heart thuds through her whole body. Then! Then either way she’s got to at least reach out and, and try to shake them awake, hasn’t she? After all… after all, they’re here because of her invitation, if they just wanted a rest they would be using the bench instead like they always…

She stretches out one trembling claw, gets it within a whisper of her White Wanderer’s… and draws it back to her chest, not daring to breathe.

If… If! If they’re tired enough to fall asleep so quickly even though that’s not what they’re here for, then, then _surely_ they must need the rest? After all, whenever they go down the well or take the Stag they must be having all sorts of dashing, harrowing adventures… heroically risking their life… accomplishing all sorts of feats of derring-do… she really _was_ lost in an out of the way place and they came to find her even though they have no wings to fly with…

So! So… surely it would be _selfish_ to wake them now, wouldn’t it? It doesn’t matter how her whole body is one throbbing nerve of desire: Her Wanderer needs the rest… surely once they’re rested they’ll rouse from their doze, and they can resume with the intended ravishing then?

This would be easier if she could tell for _sure_ that they’re sleeping and not just waiting for her to get started, but the gleaming mask her White Wanderer wears is… well, it’s rather unreadable, and she can’t tell whether their eyes are open or closed beyond it.

She waits, very patiently and very _fervently,_ for the better part of an hour: Her knight does not stir. Truly, then, they _must_ be asleep, mustn’t they? So then it falls to her to just reach over and… oh, but that’s _so_ much easier to think than to do!

She _cannot._ She absolutely, categorically, wretchedly _cannot._

What if they’re tired, what if they’d be angry if she woke them, what if she’s simply being greedy not to be satisfied with _this_ when it’s already like a dream just to have them here with her? What if they’re not all right with being touched, what if she does something _wrong?_ What if… what if she’s just being _creepy_ right now, longing for a sleeping bug? What if she reaches over and touches them and… they don’t like it?

On some level Bretta knows she’s being absurd, that they’re here in her bed for a _reason_ and that that reason is because the two of them have been entwined in the same fate and _obviously_ they feel the same. But even the slightest possibility that her any advance could be unwelcome fills her innards with a horrible cold slimy churning.

She inches out her claw again and rests it next to theirs, not touching, merely wishing. Fruitlessly.

Perhaps it would be easier, neater, if she could simply fall asleep too and they could at least wake up together, but… there’s not even the slightest chance of that when her heart still pounds so, when her nerves are stretched to the absolute breaking point.

No. She won’t get a wink of sleep like this. She’s been sitting here gnawing her own claws over the issue for nigh on _two_ hours now, and her savior hasn’t woken, shows no signs of stirring.

Bretta sighs and rolls over. Sits up. There’s nothing she can do here. Better to find another way to fill her hours until this ordeal is done.

* * *

Naturally Ghost is deeply embarrassed when they wake, but, in their defense, it was an _extremely_ comfortable bed.

They have absolutely no idea where Bretta’s wandered off to, and they don’t, like… it’s less that they don’t know _how_ to face her and more that when they imagine the awkward silence that will surely unfold, they sort of don’t want to just now! They cannot _believe_ she didn’t wake them up. Well, no, they can absolutely believe it and can imagine why too, it’s just that— _ugh,_ they thought they were finally getting somewhere with her and of _course_ they had to disappoint her instead.

There’s just one thing that’s changed in the room since they fell asleep, excepting Bretta’s absence: Ghost is absolutely sure that giant stack of stone tablets on the bedside table was not there before. They’d been looking around the room before they figured out Bretta wanted to sleep together, they would have noticed something so conspicuous.

So they consciously sweep away embarrassment with their curiosity, and jump back onto the bed so they can reach the top tablet in the stack:

_The white light so fierce seems only a gentle glow now in the eyes of the maiden, counterset by the welling black of her valiant protector’s calm gaze. Trembling claws reach out and touch and though the wind might howl outside, here within the walls of her home the maiden and her white savior might find solace…_

Ghost picks up the next tablet and the one after that, skimming. Bretta’s style is always breathlessly gothic and a bit overornamented, but her word choice gets more and more belabored the more explicitly she’s tried to write about sex. And the vast majority of these tablets talk about nothing but sex. Her fantasy version of them is equipped with all sorts of strange pulsating _appendages_ and _members_ and _dripping entrances_ and such that not only have they not got, but which no bug they’ve ever fucked has got, either.

What Bretta’s imaginings lack in realism they make up for with enthusiasm, though. Ghost glances their way to the end of the pile and carefully replaces the tablets in order.

At least their unplanned nap didn’t manage to destroy her interest altogether, they guess??? Although it’s—it’s a little absurd, really, to think that she was… what, too polite? to wake them up but still too horny to totally drop it and just wrote a whole book of amateur erotica instead. It’s very silly, and also unfortunately cute.

Ghost shakes their head and turns back towards the door. This would _still,_ they think, be _so_ much easier if she would just _talk_ to them with her perfectly serviceable voice. If _they_ were her, they would absolutely have just _said something_ by now.

Well. If nothing else, they _have_ learned she’s still interested.

That’s something.


End file.
